


Sanctuary

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:32:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Dwarves drive Thranduil mad, but Legolas unwinds him again.





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for mary’s “37. "you look like you need a hug" with little Legolas & Thranduil […] It could be cute.” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He _loathes_ dwarves. More than almost anything else. And that’s quite a feat, for Thranduil dislikes a great many things, from poor wine to witless mortal hunters to his prize elk defecating in his palace, but of all things he hates, he despises dwarves the most.

He’s exhausted by the time he’s finished with them, and it takes a tremendous force of will to have them sent to guest chambers instead of to the dungeons. He avoids escorting them himself lest he change his mind. His guards handle the matter, and he thinks it a pity that they couldn’t have handled the meeting itself. He’s entertained the thought of riding to Erebor before, primarily so he wouldn’t have to sully his halls with a Dwarven presence, but with how drained they’ve left him, he’s glad he remains so close to his own bed. No one can bellow like a dwarf, and none listen less. He bristles all the way to his bedchambers.

He means to retired immediately, perhaps not even shedding any more than his crown, but he’s robbed of that option. When he slips into his private chambers, he finds Galion standing by the door. It’s obvious why. Legolas sits atop Thranduil’s thick, woolen carpet, busily stacking wooden blocks atop each other. They’re painted bright colours and carved in different shapes, and Legolas has formed some sort of building out of them. Another hot wave of fury twists through Thranduil’s mind. When the dwarves offered him a present for his son, an intricately assembled tower that must have been comprised of these pieces, he’d offhandedly passed it to one of his guards. He’d assumed they’d set it aside until he could be bothered to burn it, but it seems some hapless fool delivered it to the little prince. Legolas plays happily with his trinkets, oblivious to their foul origin.

Thranduil deliberately says nothing to greet his son, because he can feel his teeth clenched hard together. He knows that if he opens his mouth, he’ll snap something that will only make his little princeling recoil.

Legolas spots him first, looking up at the closing of the door, and smiles wide. His innocent grin is missing a single tooth from where a now-fired guard allowed him to ride and fall off an untrained deer. His clear eyes are blue and bright, impossible to be mad at. Some of Thranduil’s anger ebbs away, but there’s too much to be entirely forgotten. Legolas’ smile hesitates somewhat when Thranduil doesn’t return it, but he must be used to that by now. 

He lifts his hand to play with the messy, sunshine-yellow braid draped over his shoulder—he can never seem to keep it neat for long. He says a quiet, “Ada.”

“Ion nín,” Thranduil answers in as soft a voice as he can manage. He can practically feel Galion cringe beside him.

But Legoles is stronger than that. He pushes up to his feet, his full height barely above Thranduil’s waist, and he steps over his makeshift house to come towards his father. A part of Thranduil’s mind screams to open his arms, but affection hasn’t come naturally to him in years. Undeterred, Legolas tells him, “You look like you need a hug, Ada.”

Thranduil doesn’t confirm it. But he finds he can’t deny it either, and he lets Legolas drift towards him, until he has little arms wrapping thickly about his middle. Legolas embraces him with such inspiring _warmth_. Thranduil’s breath catches—sometimes, he can’t understand how he ever made such a _pure_ being.

He breaks when Legolas nuzzles into his stomach. He gently kneels down, careful not to dislodge Legolas’ arms, and he open his own wide to sweep Legolas up in them. Legolas giggles as he’s pulled into Thranduil’s chest and tightly cradled. 

All at once, he knows why he entertains the dwarves. Why he must keep them as allies. He needs all the allies he can. He needs to keep his lands safe, to keep _Legolas_ safe. Someday, Legolas will be a warrior as great as his grandfather, but today he’s only a little sapling, Thranduil’s precious little leaf. Thranduil places a tender kiss against his cheek and holds him tight, until Legolas softly pulls away.

It’s almost difficult for Thranduil to let him go. He smiles up at Thranduil as though he’s healed all the wounds Thranduil’s ever had, and for many, he has.

He slips his tiny hand into Thranduil’s and bids, “Come build with me, Ada.”

So Thranduil sighs, “Very well, ion nín,” and goes.


End file.
